


Luck

by merentha13



Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: Taking advantage of the 'quiet' around here to archive some older fic.  This one from 2013
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Kudos: 22





	Luck

“Too late, we’re too late.”

Murphy ignored the whispered litany from his passenger as the car pulled in behind a myriad of police vehicles. An ambulance was quickly pulling away from the scene.

“I’ll never find him in this zoo!” Bodie flung open the car door and ran towards the group of CI5 agents surrounding Cowley’s Cortina.

“Where is he?” he demanded. “Where’s Doyle?”

Anson pointed to where George Cowley was walking away from the kneeling figure of his agent.

Bodie rushed towards Doyle, but Cowley’s sharp _Bodie!_ stopped him.

“What’s happened, sir?” Bodie asked, his attention remained on Doyle.

“The girl was killed. McGuire shot her before Doyle could take him out.” Cowley looked back at the huddled form. “Doyle blames himself.”

Bodie grimaced.

“Go to him, lad. See what you can do.”

Cowley walked back to join the rest of his agents. Several turned to watch Bodie approach his partner.

Doyle was kneeling on the wet tarmac in front of the Dockside soup kitchen where he had been working undercover for the past three weeks. Rain dripped from wet curls, hiding salty tears, and mingling together they spilled over a battered cheek. The watery street around the man shone silver in the misty light from the streetlamps, making him look ethereal. His shoulders were hunched and he clutched a gold chain in bloodstained hands. 

Bodie knelt down in front of him, ignoring the dampness that soaked his trousers. The others strained to hear Doyle’s words over the steady rhythm of the falling rain. 

“McGuire knew there was a snitch in the group. He took the girl, saying he’d kill her if we didn’t tell him who it was. Nobody spoke up. He dragged her outside. She was a child - I couldn’t let him kill her, Bodie.” 

The desolate voice was not looking for absolution. Bodie didn’t move or offer comfort. Doyle shuddered. He didn’t look up at Bodie but continued telling the story to the chain clenched tightly in the fists resting on his knees. 

“I followed him out, told him who I was. He laughed.” Doyle lifted a hand to wipe the moisture from his face, leaving an unnoticed bloody smear across his forehead. “He raised his gun to shoot. I was watching the girl – didn’t move fast enough. He caught me in the shoulder.” His hand went absently to the tear in his jumper. “She screamed and struggled to get free. He held her pressed against his chest. I yelled at her to stay still. I pulled my gun. I had him lined up. He saw some of the police closing in. The girl must have fought against him again; his gun went off just before I took my shot. He went down. I got the bastard, but I was too fucking slow. He’d shot her.” 

The grief-stricken face finally looked up to meet his partner’s eyes. His voice a ragged whisper, he repeated – “He shot her, Bodie.” 

The other agents watched the pair, surprised at the gentleness in Bodie’s touch as he cupped his partner’s anguished face. No more words were spoken, but Doyle closed his eyes, nodded and leaned into Bodie. They sat, wrapped in a curtain of rain, unmindful of the others around them. 

After several minutes, Cowley called to them. “On your bikes, men. There’s still work to be done.” 

With a reassuring smile, Bodie pulled Doyle to his feet. Doyle opened his hand and let the chain tumble out. A small gold horseshoe dangled from the end of its length. “Was hers,” Doyle answered the unasked question in Bodie’s eyes. “Never did see why these were considered lucky.” 

Bodie took it from him and put it in his own pocket. “I dunno, Ray. Seems lucky enough to me. You had the horseshoe, and I still have you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Taking advantage of the 'quiet' around here to archive some older fic. This one from 2013


End file.
